


Say Yes to the Dress

by tententen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:33:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3648819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tententen/pseuds/tententen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen considers paying the Inquisitor a compliment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Yes to the Dress

**Author's Note:**

> Elvhen thanks to fenxshrial's Project Elvhen!

“Isala,” Cullen arched a brow as he entered his office to find her poking through his bookshelf. He shut the door behind himself and dropped his papers on the edge of his desk, folding his arms over his chest as she turned to observe him. She looked reasonably miserable after her morning full of meetings. He hadn’t expected to see her so dressed up, however. Her hair was intricately pinned. The braids drew his attention first, his eyes narrowing as he tried to follow a certain piece of her hair to try and understand where it ended. He sighed softly as he closed the distance between them, slowly reaching up to probe her head, a low hum escaping him as he started removing pins, dropping them carelessly onto the floor.

“What are you…” Isala rolled her eyes upwards, though she couldn’t see her hair or what about it Cullen found offensive. She wrinkled her nose at him when he pulled away with a triumphant grin - the most childish look she’d ever seen him wear. “Why did you ruin my hair?”

“I didn’t… All right, I did, but...” Cullen teased her free curls with his fingers. “I was trying to understand it.”

“My hair,” Isala repeated slowly. “You were trying to understand my hair.”

“It was... The style… Looked complicated...“ He trailed off as he tipped his head to scrutinze the pins littering the ground. His gaze lingered over the hem of her skirt where the material pooled around her like liquid. He glanced up slowly, quietly taking in the entirety of her dress. He’d never actually seen her in a dress before. The most formal she’d ever dressed had been in Halamshiral, and she’d been absolutely divine. She was a sight in her robes, too, but the outfit at the palace had a certain decency to it. Not to say what she wore now was inappropriate - it had obviously been proper for talking with the nobles who had come to offer the Inquisition their resources, and he had no doubt Josephine would have chosen it if it was anything less. He assumed she’d chosen it, anyway. The style was unlike any Cullen was familiar with - it looked vaguely Dalish. At least, it looked like what he imagined a Dalish dress to be like from how he’d seen Isala choose her clothes. Isala might have had some say in how it’d been made, if it’d been made for her, though the longer he looked at her, the more he started to believe that it must have been a custom work. The cut of the fabric was perfectly snug on her wide set hips and fell perfectly on the rest of her gracious figure. She didn’t seem uncomfortable like she’d been in the dress uniform, either, and without her tugging at the dress constantly he could take the sight in more easily.

He idly wondered if Isala wore dresses often, before she'd left her clan to go to the Conclave. He couldn't imagine how anyone got anything done if she did. As it was, the sight of her distracted him enough. When they first spoke he thought she was attractive the same way Cassandra and Josephine and Dorian were attractive. A lot of people were attractive. Isala had become even more so the more they spoke and argued. He appreciated her wit and even her more defiance, but Maker, was her body as gorgeous as her soul. Her inquisitive nature was just as alluring as her thick thighs and her coy smile was as teasing as the shape she made in her bodice.

"I’ll pick those up,” Cullen promised with a laugh, nudging a pin with the toe of his boot before rubbing his hand against his throat, dismissing the annoyed look Isala gave him to keep from getting caught up in her full, pouting lips. He was even attracted to her angry expressions. His father joked that of his mother, that even earning her irritation was a gift of its own. Cullen took a breath with the intention of complimenting her, now that he'd recovered somewhat from his eyeful, but she interrupted him.

“Fix my hair, too. It must look like a bird’s nest…” Isala reached up to fluff her hair, patting the black cloud down with her palms and easing it into what she thought was a more acceptable shape. Cullen took the chance to seize her lips, gripping her by the waist as she stumbled into the bookshelf, her startled laugh crushed back against her tongue as he pressed himself against her.

Isala relaxed against him, her hands falling to his shoulders as her head was tipped back further, brushing against the shelves behind her as she compensated for the height of the Commander. She laughed again as his hands slipped on the material of her dress, his fingers grappling for a purchase on the slick material before Cullen uttered a soft curse. She smirked at his annoyed squint. “Is my dress complicated, too?”

“Come here,” he commanded, amusement coloring his voice and determination clenching his jaw as he tugged her forward. Isala stumbled against the edge of the desk and turned to face Cullen as he ducked to kiss her again, knocking against her. She sighed hotly against his jaw as he shrugged off his surcoat, his hands cupping her face as he stepped between her, the warmth of his thigh drawing a soft moan out of her. She planted her palms firmly on the desk, her fingers clawing at the wood as she squeezed her thighs against his leg and shifted closer to the edge of the desk, pressing herself even closer to him as he leaned over her, working at her until she feared for the state of her skirt.

Isala tipped her head back as Cullen wound an arm around her to keep her close when she started wriggling away, panting quietly while his lips found the underside of her jaw and her throat before her twitching ears drew his attention. She shuddered as his lips grazed the edge of her ear, the throaty chuckle against her ear drawing a tiny cry out of her before she threw herself away from him, clenching her skirt in her fist and stumbling towards the corner, shamefully studying the wall as the door to the office opened.

“Command-oh. Oh no."

The sound of something padded falling was odd enough that Isala turned her head to glance over her shoulder, her brows furrowed in confusion until she noticed Cullen had a hand covering himself for modesty and the soldier was quickly turning red. Isala’s eyes widened at her cackle. She clasped her hand over her mouth before sputtering against her palm, laughing outright by the time the soldier fled. She laughed harder when Cullen turned to her. “I’m not laughing at you-”

“At least I didn’t hide in the corner. You could have warned me.”

Isala gasped softly in offense as Cullen took her arm and turned her around, sliding his hand up her spine as he pushed her forward. She suppressed a tremble as she pressed one hand against the wall and gripped her skirt in another, turning her head to press her lips against her arm as Cullen shifted behind her, his belt clattering loudly on the floor. His fingers dug into her flesh as he gripped her hips, his smile hidden in her hair as she laughed breathlessly, the sound turning to a deeper cry as Cullen moved against her, his hand joining hers against the wall, his palm pressed beside hers. Isala curled her fingers into her palm, her knuckles scraping against the rough surface of the wall as she bit her lip to quiet herself, closing her eyes to the knot of tension deep in her stomach. She exhaled softly at Cullen’s light whispers, murmuring an apology when his hand shifted away from hers, seeking shelter from the sudden sheet of ice bursting against the wall.

“Shit,” he laughed, his hand falling to her hip again, his grip loosening further as he blinked at the sudden display of magic.

“Cullen,” Isala groaned at the slowed pace, “ _ar isalan ma_.”

“I don’t speak el-”

“ _Su an’banal i’ma_! Go _fast_ er.”

Isala panted softly as the pressure dissipated, her hand slipped from the wall and they staggered forward. She grinned breathlessly at Cullen’s laughter, blinking as he tweaking her nose with his thumb before sighing to observe the damage of their encounter.

“You froze my books.”

“Better your books than your-”

“All right,” Cullen huffed, swatting her hand away from his crotch before rolling his eyes at her snicker. “Better than fire, I suppose.” He pressed another kiss against her temple before brushing his hand against her backside. “I like your dress, by the way.”


End file.
